


Security Blanklet

by hurinhouse



Category: White Collar
Genre: Dialogue-Only, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:11:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3196565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurinhouse/pseuds/hurinhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why throw a good crutch away?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Security Blanklet

Uh, Peter?

Yeah?

Is this a test?

Isn't that the poin-… Why?

You didn't tell me about the lasers.

Lasers? Diana, pull up surveillance.

They're red , Peter. You know what red represents?

Happiness? Vitality? China?

Blood, Peter. 

We'll have to re-strategize. Can you get back up through the ceiling vent?

I cut my cord. 

Okaaaaay. Reason?

It was caught in the fan blades.

Good reason.

There were no lasers on the intel, Peter.

Right, I know. Okay, Neal, I have the diagram up. I'll have to walk you through it. Where are you standing, exactly?

You want the latitude or longitude?

Neal, cut the crap. You have 2 minutes to get out of there before those lasers start moving.

Moving?

Yeah, Indiana, you set off the giant ball when you cheated, now-

There was no cheating.

You didn't follow F.B.I. protocol.

Thinking outside the box is why you hired me four years ago.

Outside the box, not the country. And I didn't hire you. I saved you from prison.

Are you saying all this didn't count toward my training credits?

I am.

Even though I beat their game.

You bypassed it.

Okay, mission over.

Neal, wait!

Ahhhhhh!!!!!

Neal? Abort! Abort! Man down! Jones get in there.

On it.

Neal, you okay?

The lasers are real, Peter.

Yeah, Buddy. I told you they don't mess around at Quantico.

Medics are on their way in, Peter.

Thanks, Jones.

Peter?

Yeah, Neal?

Is it too late to revoke my application to the F.B.I.?

Now? Why? You only have ten more weeks to go.

Folgers, Peter. And they sleep with guns. 

Some trainees can be a bit hardcore.

The sheets. 

Wrong color?

Only two hundred thread count. 

A travesty.

And the radius here is less than a mile.

You're going to finish this training, Neal.

Or?

Or I'll put the anklet back on.

The one I got out of a month ago?

The very one.

On what charge?

In the words of Philip Kramer, jay-walking if I have to.

Another four years?

Another four years.

But no more lasers?

No, but-

Back to two miles? Satin pillow-top, top shelf Pinot…

Neal-

K. I quit. Get my jewelry ready.

**Author's Note:**

> I realize ex-convicts can't become agents but try to suspend disbelief for a bit of fun. thanks! :)


End file.
